My Lovely Addiction
by corner in the pouring rain
Summary: She's broken and hurting. He's angry and spiteful. The few moments a day they spend together pass by in silence. It's really the only thing they have to look forward to.
1. Chapter 1

_Shit-fucking-mother of- fucking Christ-_

Her mind belatedly processed the searing pain as she blindly grasped at her nightstand. Who is the brainless _fuck_ that decided to create such a vile device and why the _fuck_ did they make them so_ fucking_ ear splittingly loud?

Quietly seething and clutching her throbbing head, she cursed the God forsaken alarm, the impact from the collision with the headboard behind her- imposing onto her considerable pain.

As she lifted her arm, she was reminded of the previous night and quickly pulled down her sleeve. Three little red streaks on her left wrist were permanent records of the dark hole that penetrated her soul.

Not that it mattered anyway. Not to her. She's been floating in mindless abyss for the past two years. Feeling became a foreign concept and oddly enough- she was slowly learning not to mind.

Haley slowly pulled herself out of bed and mindlessly began to throw articles of clothing onto her fatigued body. A faded Fall Out Boy T-shirt flew on, closely followed by a pair of baggy cargo pants and battered All Stars.

A brush haphazardly ran through mid length, dark brown hair and a worn out baseball cap was pulled over her eyes. Hidden away, their hazel shine wasn't visible. They were clouded and dark, like the rest of her. Always guarded.

"Hales, get your tiny ass down here before I come up there and castrate you."

"You have such a way with words, Brooke.."

* * *

The engine cuts off and a dread weighs down on her body. She looks over at the bubbly teenager beside her and fights the urge to laugh. The cheerleader hasn't stopped babbling for the past twenty endless minutes spent in the tiny vehicle, and quite honestly, her claustrophobia was acting up.

"Brooke, as much as I'm dying to hear the rest of this riveting story-"

"I swear to god, Haley, would it kill you to at least pretend to be mildly interested in anything, or do you plan on forever sticking with this whole 'I'm dead to the world, go fuck yourself' scenario you've got going on?"

Haley just walked out and slammed the car door.

* * *

The minute hand was taking its time.

It hadn't moved for the past minute, which was just typical and normal and so completely aggravating.

Brooke had been sending her apologetic looks from across the darkened classroom, as Haley returned a strained smile. There wasn't room for apologies, just as there was no reason for them. She'd stated the truth. Haley just couldn't hear it. Or wouldn't.

Ignoring the drone of her history teacher's voice, she zoned in on the clock again. Five minutes till three.

Her leg bounced and her pencil tapped and her fingers twitched.

Another look. Three o'clock.

Without a word, she stood up, gathered her things, and ducked out of the room, ignoring the pleading looks from her best friend. Though the bell continued to ring, she didn't hear it, as she climbed up the familiar set of stairs. When she reached her destination, she looked up.

There he sat, leaning up against the brick wall of the building, numbness in his eyes. It had become a familiar sight in the past months, though she couldn't decide if it was an unwelcome one.

She sidled up next to him against the wall, and leaned her head back. Silently, the blunt in his hands was handed over, and she took a drag. God, it was like she was breathing again.

He waited patiently as she took her time, but his fingers itched to grab it back. He busied himself with his shoelaces, anything to take his mind off the painful need for release. His jaw still burned and his cheek was slightly swollen. Yesterday's escapades were a blur, as was his recollection of the amount of alcohol he'd consumed.

He glanced over at her, noting the way her small fingers tightened on the rolled up stick, the way her eyes widened as she breathed in. Suddenly she turned, and brown met blue in a heated gaze. Her eyes zeroed in on the scar on his cheek and she silently reached up to graze it. A moment, then the walls came back up. His cobalt eyes were black again. She recoiled.

"Sorry, I-"

"Does it look like I care?"

He left her sitting there.

* * *

The arrangement has been ongoing for the past two months. They sit. They smoke. They wallow in their own misery. It's the highlight of their day.

* * *

He enters his empty house and immediately goes for the liquor. Grabbing the first bottle he could get his hands on, he makes his way over to the couch.

On the coffee table sits an unopened notice addressed to a Nathan Scott. He glances at it briefly before turning away and downing some more of the brown liquid.

_Eh, electricity is overrated._

* * *

He hears her before he sees her, but then again, when it comes to her, he just somehow always _knows._ He's handing her the drugs before she even sits down, and like reflex, she raises it to her lips.

Neither acknowledges the other, and neither bothers to speak. He thinks he hears a sniffle, but doesn't dare question it. Besides, he doesn't have enough energy for social interaction today.

She quickly wipes at her face, catching the tears before they fell. She doesn't need Nathan Scott of all people thinking she's a baby. She gives him a once over and notices that the bruises from yesterday were slightly less pronounced. She knows he'll have new ones in a week.

He hears a quiet "_fuck"_ and notices that she's bent over and scribbling something in a tiny journal, her perfect, loopy handwriting scrawled across the page. Her eyebrows are furrowed, reflecting her frustration, as she furiously erases whatever it is she'd just written.

He takes the opportunity to really look at her, admiring the curtain of glossy brown hair that falls in front of her face. Her nose is scrunched up in a way that one may _objectively_ call cute - not that _he_ thought it was cute, but _hypothetically_ if a person were to-

His internal ramblings are cut off when she glanced up and caught his intense gaze on her.

"Was there something that you wanted?" Her question had an edge to it, as she crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive position. He got the feeling that it had become a natural stance for her.

He didn't miss a beat before responding."Oh, there's a lot that I want from you honey," he drawled, a self assured smirk present on his lips.

She's surprised. Not once in all the time that she'd known him, had she caught even a trace of a smile on his face. While the smug one he was sporting now wasn't necessarily genuine, it was staggering.

Her mind caught up to his words, however, and her face soured.

"Don't call me that."

His perplexed eyebrows lifted. "What?"

"Don't call me honey." Only _she _called her that. And _she _is long gone.

Haley went back to her journal, focusing intently on the words in front of her. The lyrics were tainted, drawn from years of pent up anger and pain. Depression seemed to be her only muse, and while early on it had been liberating to write out her suffering, she was getting rather tired of the whole 'brooding artist' cliche.

He looked over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the notebook, and quickly realized his mistake. A sweet fragrance of strawberry shampoo washed over him as he leaned in, and he quickly recoiled.

The sharp movement startled her out of her song-writing induced trance and her eyes narrowed.

"When in the entirety of our two minute conversation before, did I allow you to look at my work?"

"Around the same time you asked me to do you." His reply came instantly, as if the words were naturally on his lips. _And what lips they were… _No.

"Fuck you," she grit out, while she tersely got up and turned to hide the growing blush on her cheeks.

"Gladly," he replied, following her movements with his eyes. Why he'd carried on holding a conversation that lasted longer than a minute with her, he'd never know. It probably had something to do with the familiar blank look in her eyes, one he saw reflected back at him every morning while brushing his teeth.

Going back in for another drag, he didn't even look up when the door to the roof slammed shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Haley stumbled through the front door and carefully closed it, cringing at the slight squeaking noise made by the rusty hinges. She treaded lightly toward the stairs, squinting to see through the overwhelming darkness. She made it up to her bedroom in complete silence, and she couldn't stop the smug grin of accomplishment from slipping onto her face.

She'd had a late shift at the cafe, and knew better than to wake him. Through experience, she's learned that there are few things more terrifying than seeing him angry.

After she slipped into a ratty old tank top and some sweatpants, she quietly slid into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, trying to emulate a feeling of safety. Just as she reached over to flick the light off, she froze.

Pausing mid reach, she stared at the intimidating figure that stood stoically in her doorway.

"It's 2 am." His voice was deadly quiet, and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine.

"I know, I'm sor-" she began, but he cut her off. Her father had never been one for patience.

"Shut the fuck up, you dirty little whore." She could practically feel the alcohol rolling off him in waves. "You're worse than your stupid skank of a mother. She was also a good-for-nothing slut."

His words hurt more than the hits that followed.

* * *

She'd gotten used to covering up the bruises by now.

A little concealer here, a dab of foundation there… and there it is. _Perfection_.

The word seemed to sit uncomfortably in her mouth, as if she's used it too many times for it to retain any significant meaning. _Perfection_. To an outsider, she personified the word.

Not a hair out of place. Homework always done on time. Room flawlessly spick and span. All A's in all honors.

She didn't really know how to fit domestic abuse into that equation. Not to mention self-harm.

Yep, a picture perfect, All American girl.

She dabbed at her face once more and evaluated her work. _Not bad. _The blue tint was almost completely gone. If you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't even know it was there.

* * *

She could pinpoint the second Brooke knew. She could see the realization in her eyes be replaced by immediate anger, and spoke before she had the chance to yell.

"Brooke, I don't wanna hear it. Just drive."

"Like hell. Haley, I swear to god I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna look him right in his slimy ass face and kill him." Her tone slowly escalated as she progressed.

"Please, just stop. I really don't want to talk about it. Please, Brooke."

"Hales! Look at what he does to you! I love you too much not to say anything. No one should have to go through that. No one. God, you're so strong, honey, so brave, but you can't keep this to yourself anymore. And I can't let you."

"Please don't tell anyone," Haley said quietly, her voice chillingly reserved.

Brooke could see that her best friend was struggling, has been for a while now. No one really noticed, but Brooke took pride in being able to read Haley. She tried being there for her, being her rock, anchoring her to the ground. But her efforts seemed futile now, as she took in her fragile state. She was a shell of the animated girl she used to be, and Brooke was afraid that all too soon, she would lose her completely.

"I'll let it go," she said.

"For now."

* * *

They've been up here for an hour now.

The time always seemed to fly by, especially since reality was somewhat distorted by their inebriated state.

However, today, it seemed that hours turned to years, seconds to days.

He took a drag and looked over at her. She seemed… detached. There was no other word for it. This was a regular occurrence. Sometimes he just caught her staring off into the distance, zoning out on a particular piece of wood, or metal, or fabric, or whatever else caught her eye. Adrift in a world of quiet unperturbed existence.

It kind of sounded nice.

He caught a strand of auburn hair detach from it's secure place behind her ear, and wasn't really conscious of his body or his actions when he reached over to push it back.

The second he did, she broke out of her trance flinched away.

He frowned. " Are you ok?"

"Am I ok? Are you ok? Who gave you permission to touch me?"

" Well… I-I," He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, as generally, Nathan Scott didn't ask permission to do anything. With her, however, it seemed like he was at a loss for words.

He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. He had asked her a question.

" Are you going to answer me?"

"What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.

He reached up to brush up against her cheek again, and she winced.

"Haley, what happened? This isn't funny."

Not even trying to analyze how and why he knew her name, she quickly fired back, "And how is that any of your business?"

"Just tell me. I want to know, Haley."

"No!"

"God, why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn, huh? Just answer the question!"

"I don't even understand why it's so important to you! Why do you even care?"

She had a good point. Why did he care? He didn't, he resolved. He was just curious, plain and simple. If she didn't want to tell him, that was her fucking problem. Her shit was her shit. He didn't need another burden in his life.

He got up, ignoring the tiny faltering voice in his head, telling him to stay.

"Deal with your crap on your own. I don't give a shit either way."

And that was that.

* * *

He drove straight to the Rivercourt.

He quickly parked and got out of the car, throwing the empty tequila bottle in the back seat.

The next two hours were a blur of balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking, and sweat dripping.

He didn't stop until he felt it. The stillness.

It was so quiet, it would be frightening, had it not been for the sheer adrenaline pumping in his veins, the overwhelming satisfaction settling in his body.

_Basketball_. It was his escape, his only constant. No matter the complete shit storm his life was, no matter the agony or pain he felt. It was always just _there_.

Sometimes it all got too much. He could pretend all he wanted. Around peers, adults , advisors. But he could never hide from himself. Sometimes, it hurt that his dad left, that his mother's in jail, that he's left all alone in an abandoned apartment, that he needs to worry about things like rent, bills and groceries. That's where basketball came in.

That stillness. It was his only saving grace.

As he's thinking about it, he's struck with a thought. For some reason, he finds it amusing.

The only other time he's felt that peace, that stillness, was up on that school roof, drugs clouding his brain.

He just couldn't figure out if it was the marijuana that provided the release, or the girl sitting next to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, **what is up**? I just wanted to apologize for my **shitty** timing. I know it takes me years to update, but we just had finals and i practically** killed myself** studying for my algebra 2 test. Good news tho, I got an A! As for the story, idk what the other ships are gonna be yet, but im just gonna play it by ear as the story goes on. Yall should know tho that this is a **Naley centered story**, as they are, of course, my babies. So ill be mainly focused on them. As for their progress, I just wanna put it out there that I gave you a lot of Naley in the beginning, but it wont all be smooth sailing. They both have **a lot** of issues to get over, Haley especially. She wont be ready to feel anything just yet. **Anyways, hope you enjoy X**

The curiosity was killing her. Like physically eating her alive from the inside out. That's how pathetically curious she was.

He still hasn't taken a drag. Not once in the entirety of the half hour they've been up there (47 minutes, actually, but who was counting?), had he even tried to bring the blunt up to his beautiful, beautiful mouth- No. She needed to pull herself together… But his lips just looked so soft, so damn kissable- What was _wrong_ with her? Was she actually insane?

She wasn't completely daft. She knew that if Nathan Scott was one thing, it was _damn sexy_, but she'd become so immune to the opposite sex in these last few years of her life, that she doubted she even knew what the word "horny" even meant anymore. So these… there was no other word for them but "feelings"- perplexed her quite a bit. They didn't necessarily mean anything, but she didn't know what to make of the fact that she was feeling anything at all. She quickly rid herself of these thoughts, dismissing them as ridiculous.

Refocusing on reality, she found her gaze locked once again on the drug in his hands. She couldn't piece together why he still hadn't indulged in it. However, what perplexed her even further was the fact that he was still up there. With her. In silence. Sober.

She tried not to dwell on it, as she continued to scribble in her notebook, just as she tried to ignore the intensity of his gaze, which was, at the moment, seemingly burning a hole in the side of her face. Both attempts were futile.

God, but she wanted to say something. She wanted to ask him about it. What was his deal?

He beat her to it.

"So is that thing filled with your deepest and darkest, or something?" Was it possible for a voice to smile? Because his seemed to beam right through her.

"What?" she asked startled.

"Haley James has a diary. Wow." His teasing grin unnerved her.

"What? No. Stop it," she demanded, seeing his grin widen. "It's not a fucking diary, ok?"

"Really?" he deadpanned, his tone disbelieving, "So if I sneak a peek, I won't find the latest Brooke Davis drama in there? Or a detailed description of the _exact_ shade of Zach Carson's baby blues?" For some reason, that last thought irked him. Something about that visual just didn't sit right with him. He had the sudden urge to punch something.

He was mocking her. It made her blood boil.

"God, nosy much?" she asked, incredulous. "And what do you know about Brooke? She's not even that dramatic. Sort of." She couldn't seem to stop the sudden word vomit. "And there's nothing going on with Zach. We're work buddies." She didn't know why she felt the dire need to prove him wrong. Why did he even care about her relations with Zach? And why was he looking at her like that?

"Please, you and Brooke are basically attached at the hip. I'm surprised you guys didn't come out of the womb together."

It was true. Whenever he'd spot Haley at school, Brooke was never far behind. Not that he was watching her or anything. No, that definitely wasn't it. He barely even spared a look in her direction. Hardly even a glance. It was just hard to ignore the two of them, always cackling like harpies. It was also hard to ignore how the laughter never seemed to reach her eyes.

"And I don't know, you and Zach seem awfully cozy. I doubt he sees you as a 'work buddy'," he continued. He did his best to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

This whole conversation made her extremely uncomfortable. She glanced around, frantically searching for ways to get out of this situation. For an escape route. She absolutely despised talking about her personal life to anyone, much less Nathan Scott. Those who knew her, knew that she had a tendency to ramble. Once he got her talking, there was no saying what could accidentally slip out. She doubted he'd be as comfortable with… all that crap… as he was with these lighter topics.

So she chooses not to respond, instead focusing back on her notebook. Two seconds. Then it was snatched up out of her lap. She glared at up at him furiously.

"What?" he asked, blinking down at her innocently, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. She was kind of adorable.

"Give it back, Nathan. I'm not joking with you."

He didn't answer her, gazing intently down at the page currently flipped open.

She watched his face, gauging his reaction. She didn't know why she still hadn't moved to grab it back. Those were her private thoughts in there. For her eyes only. Sure, it wasn't a diary, but it came pretty close. It wasn't necessarily something she wanted to share. So why was she letting him read it?

Suddenly, he glanced up. God, they were so blue. Not like the sky, more like… ocean. Deep.

"Songwriting?" he asked, an awed look on his face. "Is this your stuff? Like… originals?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's… whatever. It's not important." She glanced away nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"It is." His voice was quiet. Almost… sincere. She still wouldn't look at him.

"Haley." She finally brought her eyes back to his.

"It is," he promised.

* * *

Hours later, he was still reeling from their conversation. He didn't mean for that to happen. It was too deep. Too personal. He couldn't get sucked in. It was better to stay detached. It's not like he didn't have enough crap to deal with at the moment.

He knew she was curious. Hell, _he_ was curious.

When he'd come up to the roof that afternoon, he had every intention of getting high as a kite. In fact, he never needed it more.

Just mere moments ago, his pathetic excuse for a mother had phoned him- interrupting his class, mind you- and had effectively squashed any hopes he had of having a mediocre day.

She'd called from jail. Yep, straight from the slammer. What a goddamn privilege. He'd answered hesitantly, bracing himself. Their conversations were always a pleasure.

As per usual, she cried, pleaded with him to visit, begged him for drugs. Nothing new. He expected it. Expected the anger. The pain. That didn't stop it from hurting.

By the time he'd reached the rooftop, his entire being was itching for escape. For release.

Then he saw her sitting there, her eyes once again glazed over, her hair billowing in the wind. It was like everything else faded, if only a little. If only for a moment.

He reached the wall she was propped up against, and slid down to sit beside her. And sat. Forty minutes later, he was still simply sitting there, the drugs suddenly seeming… _redundant._

And that scared him, more than he was willing to admit. Her mere presence affected him to his core. She took his breathe away. She also practically spelled trouble.

_And yet he couldn't seem to stay away._

* * *

When she wasn't watching him, she'd catch him watching her.

It was like all of a sudden, something shifted in her brain. She had become suddenly hyper aware of him at all times.

It was like… a sixth sense. Yes, that's what it was. Without even looking, sometimes, she'd be instantly aware and on edge whenever he walked-or swaggered, more like- into the room.

She didn't know what to do with it. It just wasn't her style. Yes, she was extremely clumsy and got into quite the frenzied state when she got flustered, but generally, especially with mere acquaintances, she stuck with her usual, 'I don't give a flying fuck' attitude. And it worked for her. Most people knew to stay away.

Why did she get the sense he wouldn't leave her alone even if she wanted him to?

They had formed a … tentative friendship, per say, over the past month. Or as much of a friendship as could possible form with the two of them. Between his sudden bipolar episodes, and her general detachment from reality, the two made quite the pair.

Nevertheless, their silent hours on the rooftop weren't as tense as they used to be. Few words were exchanged, if any, but the atmosphere was somewhat more comfortable. Most of the time, he'd watch her scribble lyrics onto a page, or she'd sneak glances at the way his eyes crinkled when his lips stretched into an intoxicated smile.

All of a sudden, she bristled. The telltale goosebumps on her arms reappeared, and she sat straighter in her seat.

Reluctantly, she turned. As expected, he was purposefully striding through the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, and jeans hung low on his hips. Damn him and his stupid sexiness… It made her unreasonably angry.

He plopped down in his seat and looked up just in time to catch her glare. Slowly, just as she knew it would, that infamous smirk made its way over his face. She huffed and turned back around, annoyed. God, why did she even have to take Biology?

He watched as she turned, her back to him. He was momentarily mesmerized as her hair swung around and over her shoulder, the shiny auburn locks distracting him.

He was suddenly grateful for having enough sense to switch his seat to the one right behind her last week. It made it much easier to annoy her, something he got immense, unexplainable satisfaction from.

He leaned forward and quickly tapped her on the shoulder with the butt of his pencil. Nothing. So she was ignoring him. Ok. Time to up the ammo. Slowly, and ever so lightly, he pressed a feather-like kiss to her exposed shoulder. That got her attention.

"What the actual _fuck_ are you doing?" she hissed, unfortunately unable to prevent a traitorous blush from coloring her cheeks.

"Why? Does it bother you?" he asked, feeling a surge of pride wash over him as the pink dripped further down her neck and up to her ears.

"Wha- I …..you- Stop!" she stuttered out, even as he trailed further up her body, pressing another kiss to the back of her neck.

God, she was cute.

"But I want to…" he breathed, brushing his lips against the crook of her neck, leading a trail up to her jaw, awed at the softness of her skin.

It was a good thing they were at the back of the classroom, or else everyone in it would have gotten a free show. She had to slap a hand over her mouth to stifle a breathy sigh.

"You seriously need to stop. Ok? Like… right now… because I can't-" she struggled to get the words out with his lips still attached her neck.

He would've messed with her a little more, drawn out a few more flustered reactions, but he decided to take pity on her. Besides, that adorable blush was reaction enough for him.

"Ok," he conceded, removing his mouth from her neck, but not before nipping at the skin a little, no doubt leaving a mark.

"You might wanna go splash some water on or something. You're looking a little hot there, Hales."

Hales. It sounded so natural rolling of his tongue.

She bit her lip to suppress a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**What is up** ladies and gents? I am so psyched to be back and writing again! This chapter was both pointless and extremely important at the same time, as it has **really important** info on certain relationships that I've been trying to develop. There not that much Naley in here, but the Naley I did put in is** super cute** so I hope you enjoy that. I just wanted to say a quick thank you to all the people that left comments, they help me so much and they motivate me and inspire me like none other, so thanks! Anyways without further ado:** the fourth chapter everbody**!

Loud cackles could be heard down the streets of Tree Hill. If one listened closely enough, they could probably trace the sound back to an abandoned rooftop of an old weathered school building.

God knows what this stuff even was, but damn if it didn't feel gooddd…

After a particularly brutal night with her father dearest and her own ever-pleasant thoughts, Haley decided she had the right to indulge. She riffled through her dad's overflowing liquor cabinet and grabbed the first bottle in sight. Or two. Maybe three. After drinking what she dubbed a sufficient amount, she concluded that it was time to brush up on her admittedly limited ballet skills, a task that proved quite difficult to somebody who was a measly 5 foot three and had just drunk about half her body weight.

"Woahhh…" she mumbled as she attempted another pirouette. A giggle slipped out as she stumbled and held her arms straight out to the side in an attempt to steady herself.

"It's all good. I'm _good_," she emphasized, to no one in particular. Well, not _no one_...

Nathan let out his own loud guffaw, as he watched her leap across the roof, arms outstretched and nose hitched high with the air of a true ballerina.

"I'm a fairy princess!" she cried, as Nathan tried not to keel over laughing. He clutched at his stomach, tears dripping from his eyes as he struggled to take deep breaths in order to calm his hysterics.

"Nathan!" she gasped, as if she was Newton discovering gravity, "come dance with me!" She clapped her hands together excitedly, quite pleased with her new stroke of genius.

His laughter stopped suddenly, his head shaking vigorously in a 'no way' motion. In his drunken attempt to back way, he ended up colliding with the wall behind him and banging his head with a groan.

"Come onn … please Nate?" she begged, her lips pouting and her eyes seemingly impersonating a little lost kitten. "It'll be fun… please?... please, please, pretty please?"

He sighed and slowly good up, shaking his head at himself self-deprecatingly. When did he become such a fucking wuss?

"Alright princess… here I am..," he slurred as he spread his arms out in a 'viola' gesture.

The two of them had lost sight of the time in the midst of drinking their _many_ worries away, but both knew they would gladly spend the rest of their miserable lives up here, wrapped up in the fantasy. Up on this rooftop, where the world was a blurred, hazy place. Where tears turned to giggles, and pain was forgotten as the mind floated further into oblivion.

"Ok… come here… come closer Nate… yeah like that… oww you stepped on my toee…" she trailed off, wincing and grabbing her bare foot, as her shoes and socks had been haphazardly flown off minutes prior to the start of the 'Haley James Ballet Extravaganza".

"Sorry, sorry… ok… you good?" he asked, grabbing onto her shoulders. For her sake or his, he didn't know, as he was struggling to stay upright at the moment.

"Yeah."

It was 6:30 in the evening, and the sun was quietly setting beneath the low clouds of the Carolina sky. Its rays emitted a soft glow, painting the world pink. The soft sound of the wind rustling autumn leaves could be heard, as well as soft feminine laughter.

And as the sky slowly turned black, two dark figures could be seen swaying together in the moonlight.

* * *

"Nope. Never. No way in hell."

"C'mon Haleyyy," Brooke rasped in her usual husky fashion, "I'll love you forever…"

"Brooke, if I told you once, I've told you a thousand times, over my dead body will I ever wear this out in public. Ever." She said all this with a final tone to her voice and finished off her admittedly over-the-top rant with an indignant stomp of her foot.

Haley didn't know if the tiny strip of cloth currently stretched over her body could even be called a shirt. It was a strapless black little number that spanned the width of her chest and was just long enough to reach the middle of her rib cage. Calling it a tube top would be an understatement.

"You, my friend, are overreacting," Brooke drawled, adjusting the top slightly, "I have one just like this at home."

"Thank you. My point exactly," the shorter girl deadpanned.

"Oh, stop it. You look hot Hales. _And_... it makes your rack look great. Who knew you had those puppies hidden under all those band-T's?"

Haley huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at Brooke pointedly.

"Brookie, I love you, but if you compare my boobs to canines ever again, I will have no choice but to slap you."

Said girl simply raised a perfectly arched brow, and crossed her own arms. She knew that while Haley seemed to have a tough exterior, the inside was a pile of mush. The girl couldn't hurt a fly. And based on the sudden slump over her shoulders, she knew it too.

Letting out a defeated sigh, Haley conceded. "Fine. I'll get it. Don't look so happy."

And with that, and an overexcited squeal, Brooke Davis dragged her friend to checkout.

* * *

After the much needed shopping spree, the two best friends made their way back to their respective houses, hands entwined.

To an observer, the two couldn't be more different if they tried.

The two silhouettes had a difference of about four inches in height. One had on an ensemble that effectively clung to her figure, showing of every curve with excellence. The other smaller figure practically drowned in an oversized sweatshirt, baggy jeans hung low on her hips. One had a sneaky smile adorning her lips, while the other had a faraway look on her face, her eyes zoned in on nothing in particular.

Yet despite their differences, they completed each other like no other. They were there for each other through pain and suffering. Through loss and tragedy. One lost the only true parent she's ever known. The other lived with cold-hearted machines that didn't deserve the title. For nearly ten years, they've been each other's everything, creating their own little family along the way. Neither could imagine a life without the other. Simply put, they were sisters.

As they approached the first house, residence to the smaller girl, they reluctantly loosened their grips on each other.

The petite one sighed, seeing the expression of worry on the taller one's face.

"Don't worry about it Brookie. I'll deal with it," she told her, digging around in her backpack for her keys.

"That won't stop me from worrying, Hales. The things he does to you.." she trailed off.

"It's not that bad. I handle it fine."

Brooke stepped forward and quickly enveloped Haley in a tight embrace, propping her chin up on her head. She discreetly wiped away a tear before the latter could catch it and planted a comforting smile on her face. Haley needed her to be strong.

They finally separated and Haley turned towards her house with a small parting smile, keys in hand. Then she took a deep breath and turned the lock.

* * *

Haley sat in front of her mirror, legs crossed Indian style, a blank expression on her face. She had just finished gently applying Neosporin to the nasty cut on her cheek, and had already taken out some material to bandage her bruised torso.

As she slowly wrapped the cloth around her rib cage, she hissed quietly at the pain, but continued her task, undeterred. This wasn't her first time with this routine, and it certainly wouldn't be her last. When she finished, she stood up silently, and made her way over to the bathroom.

Once inside, she walked up to the sink grabbed onto it with both hands, using the counter to steady herself. She stared at herself in the mirror, cringing at the broken sight.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed when she heard loud snoring coming from the room across the hall. Figures he'd be able to sleep after what he'd just done to her. She, however, will undoubtedly be plagued with unrelenting insomnia for the next week or so.

She knew not to bother him when she saw the broken bottles on the kitchen counter. It was an unspoken rule in the house: they were both better off if he remained undisturbed while intoxicated. So, like she did most nights, she quickly cleaned up and silently crept up to her room. She realized her mistake just as she finished putting on her pajamas. She forgot to lock the front door.

Sighing, she crept back down the stairs and made her way over to the door, praying he was already asleep. If only she was so lucky.

As she turned back around, she was met with his stony face. The rage in his eyes was unmistakable. She's learned that it wasn't so much directed at her, but at the world in general. He was, essentially, simply angry at life.

But she was in his line of fire.

The blows came easily, and without explanation. He never really had one. She tried to keep still, knowing retaliation would only make it worse. She winced but stood rigidly, playing the role of the punching bag. She knew that's all she was to him.

She shook her head, cringing at the memory. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the razor on the counter. She shouldn't, she knew this.

It was wrong.

It wouldn't help a thing.

She shook her head once more, trying to rid herself of the dizzying thoughts. She glanced back at it, and sighed dejectedly.

Gripping the razor in her hand, she slowly raised her head back to her reflection.

A lone tear made its way down her bandaged cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ok so I am so so so sorry. It has been a really really long time since I updated. And this chapter isn't even that long, although I am proud of it. Sorry for the somewhat cliffhanger at the end, but it had to be done. **

They were standing in the middle of a deserted parking lot, fully dressed in sleepwear, complete with fuzzy slippers and plaid patterned pants. Haley was taking a moment to scream relentlessly, faintly resembling a demonic banshee, while Brooke simply watched from the sidelines; hip cocked, arms crossed, and eyebrow raised.

"FUCK!" screeched the smaller girl, using the momentum from her frenzied movements to hurl one of the metallic disks beside her at the graffitied wall in front of her.

There was a moment of breathless silence, before a sharp intake of breath, followed by another deafening crash.

"So.." said Brooke, straining to be heard over the continuous ruckus going on in front of her, " exactly how long do you think you wanna do this?"

Her question was promptly ignored as another disk met its untimely demise.

She tapped her foot impatiently and recrossed her arms, huffing loudly to make her considerable annoyance known.

"You know," she yelled again, utterly unamused, "you're gonna run out of records soon!" She paused, before continuing, "And guess what?...I happen to know that one of those babies is a classic signed 1966 Revolver!... Yeah… what was it you were telling me the other day? 'The Revolver is an immensely unappreciated, masterpiece of an album that highlights McCartney's musical genius and lyricality-'"

" - which was completely unprecedented at the time," the tiny girl finished, cutting her eyes at her oblivious friend. "And really? I'm depressed, not stupid. These are blanks." With that, she bent once more and proceeded with her admittedly childish temper tantrum.

She continued in the manner for another ten excruciating minutes before collapsing on the ground, seemingly done for the day. She felt the other girl sit down next to her, wrapping a comforting arm around her slight shoulders, squeezing her tight into her side. Haley carefully leaned her forehead on Brooke's shoulder and nuzzled her nose into her arm, trying in vain to disappear into her embrace.

"I just don't get it, Cookie. Why doesn't he like me?"

The words reverberated in her head. Ironically similar to a record.

_Why doesn't he like me?_

_Why doesn't he like_

_Why doesn't he_

_Why doesn't_

_Why_

_Why?_

* * *

She forgot to cover up her wrists. This thought strikes her mid reach for the toilet paper, in one of the numerous stalls of the perpetually empty bathroom. She consistently chooses this one for solely that reason. Its less of a hassle. Always much easier to cry alone.

Cursing herself in her head, she tugged down the sleeves of her sweatshirt, subconsciously running her fingers over the fresh wounds experimentally. The stinging makes her cringe, and she quickly rises and hustles out of the stall, and over to the sink, where she expertly dodges her reflection as she runs her hands under the scalding water.

She's late; she knows she's late, and yet she still sprints down the hall, racing against a bell that's already rung.

She feels his eyes on her as she reluctantly trudged toward the teacher and snatched the detention slip from her hand. This is her sixth tardy of that month, which was what warranted this cruel and unusual form of punishment.

He mouths off 15 minutes into the lesson and readily accepts a yellow slip similar to hers.

Her lips stretch into a sly smile as she realizes he had sacrificed himself for her.

* * *

He unceremoniously plops down into a seat smack dab in the middle of the abandoned classroom, before crossing his hands behind his head and leaning back to prop his feet up on the desk. One of said feet begins to jiggle, and he refuses to consider (or acknowledge) the cause is anticipation of her arrival.

She enters ten minutes later, and pauses in the doorway to take in the scene. He's surrounded by empty desks on all sides, cocky smirk and raised eyebrows ever present. She laughs sardonically and enters the room, before taking her own seat in the back corner, far far away from him. It's a safe distance, she decides. She guesses. She hopes.

He blows her a kiss. All hope promptly dissolves.

"You're late," he observes.

"You're not," she retorts, her tone mocking. Silence ensues. He breaks it.

"Where was Tweedle Dum today?"

"Brooke wasn't feeling it, so she ditched. I'd have joined her, but I don't particularly enjoy getting my ass whooped." She laughs it off nervously so he'd take it as a joke. He did.

"Yeah. I don't blame her. Hell hole's not for everyone."

She nods agreeably before avoiding his gaze and ducking her head under the pretense of digging through her bag. He frowns, not used to having to work for attention. Stressed, he takes out a cigarette.

A very frazzled-looking librarian enters the room then, cursing herself for volunteering her supervision. With surprising grace, she expertly plucks the rolled cylinder from Nathan's mouth as well as the offered lighter from Haley's outstretched hand, and crosses the room to sit behind her desk at the front.

"Alright, you know the rules. No cell phones, no gum-chewing, no eating, no talking, no fornication. I'll see you in two hours."

Her form was a blur as she fled. A few seconds later, the distinct click of a lock was heard.

The two inhabitants glanced up at each other, then looked away. He took out a pack of camels. She dug around for matches.


End file.
